Sons of the Wilderness: 1845
by MissMilkMaid
Summary: Leading up to the murders of John Howlett and Tom Logan, was the piecing together of an ugly puzzle, connecting James, Tom and Elizabeth.
1. Chapter 1: Father and Son

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Victor, or any other characters/content that Fox or Marvel already own. I'm not making money off this and have no legal rights.

**Sons of the Wilderness: 1845**

**Summery:** Leading up to the murders of John Howlett and Tom Logan, was the piecing together of an ugly puzzle, connecting James, Tom and Elizabeth.

**AN:** This is the first part of a series I'm writing on Sabertooth and Wolverine in the 19th century. It's a prequel to "Sons of the Wilderness: 1849" which I've already finished. It won't matter what order they're read in.

Basically I'm just trying to fill in some of the years we glimpsed in the credits section at the beginning of the Wolverine Origins movie. I loved the brother connection they made and I'm having fun developing the relationship between Sabertooth and Wolverine, as they grow up. This is NOT slash, only brothers.

Just to let you know, this story probably won't have Wolverine in it as much, since he's just a little kid. It'll be more focused on Victor and the adults at Howlett Manor.

**Rated T**: For strong language, child abuse, violence and sexual implications. However, I'll be sure to put a warning at the top of chapters so you'll know when to expect it.

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Chapter One: **Father and Son**

**Warning:** Chapter contains child abuse

Summers at the base of the Canadian Rockies were always vibrant, green and noisy. Every plant animal and insect was making the most of the warm weather and the air literally buzzed with life. The chores of cicadas, crickets and other insects rose through the humid night air with great noise and excitement. At the river, which flowed down from the mountain, deep-throated frogs added their own base line and the water itself gurgled a melody over stones and fallen foliage. The pine forest around it sashayed in tune with the whimsical night breezes and above it all ghostly rags of clouds chased each other over the waxing moon. It was summer and the whole wilderness sung and throbbed in a celebration of life.

Amid this wild, disorderly sprawl, the trim, well tended grounds and colonial terraces of Howlett manner seemed like a china doll lost in a Never-Never tree-house; proper English civilization in a world, where even table manners were foreign. Nonetheless, the two-story mansion stood proudly, surrounded by hedgerows, fields, orchards and clean flower gardens, filled with roses and lilies, lavender and honeysuckle. Clearly these gardens were the love and pride of a dedicated gardener. A small, white pair of lady's gloves sat beside a hand-spade near the tool-shed door.

Beyond this shed, through a gap in the hedgerow, the groundskeeper's cabin sat under the eves of the forest. It was more a part of the wilderness than the manicured lawns of the manor. Rough and rundown, it was a sorry eyesore. Broken, rusty tools were falling apart on the muddy porch amid the shattered remains of gin jugs and the dead branches haphazardly stacked as firewood.

Amid the celebrating sounds of the summer night, the slams shouts and curses coming from the cabin were grossly discordant.

"God damn yeh Boy, hold still!" yelled Tom Logan his bearded face glowing red with drink and rage in the oily lamp light, as he tried to keep a good grip on his son's coat with one hand and hold a thick stick in the other. Thwack! The blow landed solidly against the teenager's shoulder and Victor staggered in his father's grip, his fanged teeth gritted, as he stubbornly refused to cry out.

"All day long I work in the sun and bugs for that rich bastard, try'n to put bread in your ungrateful stomach and yeh tell me thars none left!" Twack! Twack! His stick fell in fast succession. Twack! With the final blow on the boy's back, Victor fell out of Tom's grip to the dirt floor.

"Gawah, yeh better stay down," warned Tom, wiping his mouth with the back of his dirty hand and stumbling a step backward to catch his breath. "Where's my gin?" he demanded, after a moment of glancing a round the one room, searching its dim, messy interior for some sign of liquor.

Still panting on the floor, Victor turned furious gray eyes up to his father. A bruise was slowly fading to match the rest of the pale, freckled skin of his dirty face and he wiped a little blood away from a wholly healed lip, before getting up to his knees.

"Well?" demanded Tom, "I asked where the gin was, Boy. We better not be out'a that too."

"We aint," muttered Victor bitterly and got up, kicking dirty clothes and empty sacks out of his way, so he could reach under the bed and take out the nearly full jug of gin that'd rolled under there earlier.

From where he'd sat down on top of the table, Tom watched his son, still holding the stick in one hand, the lamplight reflecting flaringly in his stormy grey eyes. "Gauh, Victor," he said with a throaty half sigh, half sniff. He let the stick fall to the floor, as Victor returned with the liquor. Almost fondly Tom put a hand on his son's shoulder and leaned toward him. "Yer gett'n so damn big!"

Victor didn't say anything, as he handed his father the jug. Just kept his mouth shut and his eyes down.

"And yer tough as nails!" Tom continued, shaking the teenager slightly, "Hell tougher! I love yeh, but how else am I going te keep yeh down in yer place?" As he took the gin, Tom suddenly grabbed Victor's wrist, lifting the clawed hand to the light.

Victor tried to pull swiftly back out of the grip, but Tom jerked him forcibly forward, keeping a steel grip on the wrist and examining the claws. "Yeh still got them!" he accused, "I thought I told yeh to cut them monstrosities off!"

Leaving the gin on the table, Tom stood up and viscously threw Victor to the floor. "What't hell will I have te do with you Boy? Lock yeh in the cellar? Rip yer damn nails out with pliers?" He leaned down to pick up his stick again.

Hastily Victor turned over and backed away. "Pa, I did cut them!" he protested, "I cut them lots'a times! They just keep growing!"

With a grunt, Tom bent down and hoisted the boy up to his feet, before pushing his back firmly against the cabin wall and holding him there, while he lifted the stick over his head. "Aint fit for civilization!" growled Tom drunkenly, "Lived 'ere all me damn life, but when John Howlett moves in- Ha!- I suddenly aint fit!"

Thwack! The stick hit Victor on the side of the head, leaving a red swelling mark.

"Elizabeth and me! We know this country! We known it like we knew each other!"

Thwack!

"It was in our blood. We were everything!"

Thwack!

"Till rich boy come…" Tom panted, his grey eyes fading from rage to sadness, and he sniffed, "Suddenly ah aint fit."

Dropping his stick, Tom started to collapse drunkenly to his knees, but Victor caught him and, warping his father's arm over his shoulder, he helped the man to their one chair. Silently, Victor took the cork out of the jug and handed it to his father. "Here," he mumbled, "Yer tiered. Since we don't got no food you might as well drink."

Passively Tom took the gin, but then grabbed Victor's arm again, pulling him close so he could stare into his eyes. "Victor?" he asked almost desperately, "You… you won't leave me?"

Uncomfortably Victor turned from his father's foul breath, but answered. "Course not Pa. We're family. All I have is you. I aint leaving."

Dropping the jug, Tom suddenly hugged his son then sniffed and took a deep breath. "I don't really hate yeh," he said, as he let go. Picking up his jug again, he gave a dry chuckle. "Civilization be damned!" he took a gulp, and seemed to cheer up a little more. "Y-you know… you know, your claws…" he took another large gulp, sighed and wiped his mouth, "Your claws remind me o' a bear." He smiled.

With a wary glace, Victor sat on the floor, picking up the stick his father had beat him with. "That's a good thing?" he asked uncertainly and started absently scratching pictures into the wood.

Tom took another gulp, "My Boy, bars are the biggest toughest animals in this here wilderness," he congratulated. "Them's Canada's own children!"

"Use to run in te them in me trapp'n days!... gawh." Tom let out a stinking breath and leaned down. "One nearly damn killed me once."

Victor looked up, his gray eyes shining with curiosity and excitement, despite the stink of gin in his face. If Tom Logan could do one thing well, besides drinking, it was story telling.

"Twaz a she grizzly!" continued Tom, "Ah was setting me traps 'long the river and it was salmon season, so I didn't pay her much 'ttention. See, bars aint even the wee bit interested in eat'n a man, when their favorite dish is flocking up the rivers in the thousands. But there is someth'n even more important to a bear than food. Yeh know what that is Boy?"

Victor shook his head.

"Family!" explained Tom and put a heavy hand on his son's shoulder. "I made the mistake'a stumbling into that she-grizzly's cubs! Next thing ah know, she's a'lummb'n my way, roaring someth'n fierce. You'd be surprised how fast a grizzly can run, even though they're big and fat as all can be. I took one look at her and, I swear, I went pale as the underbelly o' a fish! The wrath of God himself can't be more terrifying than that of a mama bar a'fear'n fer her cubs!"

"I couldn't out run her and had to turn an' fight her with nothing but me bare hands and a hunting knife! I tell yeh, Boy, it was not something I'd want to ever do again. Still got the scars see!" Tom first pulled up his sleeve to show a line of deep scars gashed up his forearm then pulled apart his dirty shirt to show an ugly slash of five scars across his chest. "She darn near killed me!"

Victor looked at the scars with a hint of admiration in his eyes. "But she didn't. Did yeh kill 'er first?" he asked.

"Naw," said Tom, taking another long drink and wiping his mouth with his sleeve, "Could have… ah could have, but she did have them cubs, and I wasn't going to hold it 'gainst her for wanted to protect her own blood. I managed to get away and escaped by climbing a cliff. Bears are fast, 'cross the flat ground, but damn clumsy with rock climbing. Gawah…" Sighing, Tom leaned back in his chair and drank steadily, for the next few minuets.

Victor sat silently on the floor, looking thoughtful, as he continued to dig pictures into his father's stick. Suddenly there came the thud, as Tom and his jug fell onto the floor. The man had finally drunk himself into a stupor and began snoring into the dirt floor, slobber dripping down to make mud.

Taking a deep breath, Victor got up and started to help his father to the one, dirty cot in the corner of the room. Tom moaned and grunted, looking up into his son's face, as he was laid on the bed. "You… grizzly, Son," he mumbled and grabbed Victor's sleeve, before muttering, "…Thank you."

Victor pushed his father's grip off and tucked the old gray blanket up around him. "Well, that's what family does." He said softly, "Look out fer each other."

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**AN:** Thanks for reading to the end of the chapter! Please review, even if it's only to say hi. It's nice to know people reading my story, even if they don't leave a long comment.


	2. Chapter 2: Tom and Elizabeth

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything Marvel and Fox already own and have no legal rights to their content.

Chapter Two: **Tom and Elizabeth**

**Warning: **Gets a little steamy and there's also some violence.

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The gray, misty light of predawn was spread over the valley in a tangible way. It smelled and tasted of rich, clean dirt and felt chill and clammy to the skin. The light was strange, yet friendly, a forerunner of another summer day and several birds were already singing their greetings in the trees, while others dived and paddled about in the gentle parts of the river, looking for an early breakfast among the mud and reeds.

Inside the groundskeeper's cabin, Tom Logan was moaning over a hangover, as he stumbled about, looking for a cleaner shirt, his hat and some previously unnoticed scrap of food.

He nearly fell over Victor, sleeping in his usual place on the floor beside the stove. "Damn it Boy!" growled Tom, giving the groggy teenager an impatient kick in the back. "Didn't ah tell yeh to get up? We got work te do."

With a sigh, Victor sat up, scowling, as his father stumbled on and found his hat under a pile of old fur blankets. "Yeh kept me up all night with yer damn snoring," muttered Victor, kicking off his blankets.

"What's that?" asked Tom, looking up, as he pulled down his hat then he frowned angrily when he saw Victor still of the floor. "Damn it Boy! I said get up!" Viscously, he grabbed up the stick left of the floor and threw it at his son.

Victor ducked and it landed under the cot. Hurriedly, Victor stood up, before his father could grab something else. "I'm getting up!" he said, as he grabbed his coat and began pulling it on, "Howlett still making a big deal over them bones we found?" he asked.

"Hell yeah," growled Tom, "Should'a left them te rot rather than let the son of a bitch make and archaeo-what's'its find out'a them! Now some fancy son of a bitch's ass is coming all the way from New York te look at 'em and the grounds gott'a be prefect." He fell into muttered curses, before saying, "That'll be yer job. We need food, so I'm go'na to spend the day hunting an checking my traps up in the mountain." He pointed a dirty figure at his son, "Them hedges better be trimmed smooth as water by the time I get back, and the fence needs paint and repairs 'round the bull-pin. Oh an' the fruits in the apple 'n cranberry orchards are starting to color, so yeh keep them damn birds out. Yeh hear?"

Victor sighed and put on his own old, black hat.

"Ah said do you hear me Boy!" growled Tom.

"Yes Sir," complied Victor and stuck his long-nailed hands into his pockets.

Tom nodded in satisfaction and grabbed his gun, before opening the door wide, only to gasp at the sight of the person standing just outside.

"'Lo Tom," said the meek voice of the woman under the porch eves. Her red hair was pinned up, but a few ringlets still fell charmingly over her face. Her dark eyes glanced from Tom to the inside of the messy cabin, where Victor was staring with his fanged mouth wide open. "I was about to knock," she said and straightened some wrinkles out of her fine cornflower-blue dress.

"Elizabeth," gasped Tom, still looking shocked. Behind him, Victor walked up, looking out into the gray morning and the lady of the manor standing there on the porch. His face was still stuck in a disbelieving expression.

Slightly ashamed, Elizabeth looked down. "Tom I need to talk to you," she said firmly, "Can we… I thought maybe we could go on a walk, or something."

"Uhm… certainly," answered Tom then glared down at Victor. "Shut yer mouth, Boy," he hissed and roughly grabbed Victor's coat, "Get to work!" he shoved him away then leaned his gun against a cabin wall. "Sorry if my boy makes yeh nervous. He's got problems, I can't cure him of."

"Hrm," Elizabeth hugged her shoulders and glanced warily over at the boy, now making his way hesitantly toward the manor, and then back at Tom. "I'm sorry Tom," she said.

Tom snorted derisively and didn't look at her, "Sorry 'bout what?" he asked bitterly.

Elizabeth sighed, "Why don't we talk while we walk," she suggested, "I saw a flower I never seen 'fore in the forest. Betcha you can tell me what it is though," she gave an encouraging smile. "You always did know everything there is to know 'bout wild things. Let me show you." She held out a hand.

Still glowering some, Tom hesitantly took her hand and then couldn't help but smile slightly, as her smile brighten into a girlish laugh that'd once been so familiar to his ears. He let her lead him into the forest.

"Oh Tom," breathed Elizabeth excitedly. "It's been too long since you and I walked out here. Remember when we were kids? We must of climbed ever tree and run down every hill in this valley!" she laughed again and swung his hand, still holding it tight in hers.

"Lizzy, what are yeh sorry about?" demanded Tom, dragging his feet to a stop and looking at her.

Elizabeth averted her gaze and looked down at his hand in hers, "I like you calling me Lizzy," she said in a soft, charming voice and tried to walk on, but Tom jerked her back.

"What is it yeh want to say?" he demanded.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, "Oh Tom," she said, suddenly sounding tearful, "I just can't keep doing this! Living like this, with him." She threw herself into him, holding him tight and pressing her wet cheek against his chest. "I know I said I didn't love you anymore, but I do, Tom! I do!"

A strained look filled Tom's bearded face, and he carefully stepped back, pulling her arms off him and looking grimly down at her teary eyes. "What yeh saying Lizzy?" he asked, "You left me. Left me to marry Howlett. And even though afterwards we…" he hesitated, turning a little red, "Well lets just say yeh left me fer him a second time. Even ah know not to touch a hot stove fer'a third time."

Elizabeth sniffed. If she'd been a little younger, she would have been the picture of mournful regret. As it was, some of her practiced charm was starting to slip away with age. "You don't understand Tom," she said, "You don't have to live with him," she pushed out of his grip and into the cradle of his arms again.

"What'd yeh mean? He loves yeh don't he?" Tom hesitated and bit his lip, looking down at her head. "He aint hitting yeh o' nothing is he?"

Elizabeth shook her head and sniffed, "No, nothing like that Tom. He aint like you. _That's_ the problem." She stepped back, still holding his coat with both hands and looking up at his face, her dark eyes a mixture of wild hope and desperation. "He aint like you. He sits in his study all day, like he's still in England. Reads books, writes letters, has important friends. He's so educated and civilized, but he don't know nothing Tom. Nothing 'bout me. Nothing 'bout the world right outside his window! He cares for me, calls me "My Dear," stands up when I come in the room, but he don't know me Tom. I feel so trapped!" She took a sobbing breath and buried her face in his shoulder. "I want to be free again! Free of hedges and table manners. Free of _Mrs. Howlett_!"

Taking a deep, resigned breath, Tom held her, letting her cry into his shoulder a while, before gently picking her up and carrying her down toward the river. The sun had come up now and bright yellow rays streamed down through the summer foliage, making everything seem to shine with emerald and gold. Tom stopped among the roots of and old oak tree that was growing on the edge of a slow bend in the river. The water was smooth and deep and wild geese and swans were swimming under the blue shadow of the tree, making soft noises, as they searched for food.

Carefully, Tom set Elizabeth down, at the base of the tree, where fresh green grass was growing and small white lilies bloomed wild beside the riverbank. She kept her hands behind his neck, keeping him close as he slowly began to unbutton her dress.

"I'm sorry Tom," she whispered, "Sorry that I ever married him. I loved you. You know I loved you. I loved you deeper than the mountain roots. It killed me Tom. It killed me to leave you."

Tom glared at her face, "Yeh killed us both Lizzy," he growled, "Kill everything we were and everything we could have been."

She looked down, "Can you forgive me?" she asked softly.

"No!" answered Tom angrily, and pulled the bodice of her dress open, before viscously kissing her.

She wrapped her arms tight around his neck, as if she never wanted the kiss to end. It was a long time, before they broke apart, panting for air. "Tom!" she sobbed, "Please Tom, I…"

He hesitated, blinked then suddenly slapped her and pushed her roughly against the tree. "Why yeh doing this Lizzy?" he demanded, "Yeh won't ever leave him, will you? So yeh rich boy bores you. Yeh think yeh can run back into my arms fer a day? Do yeh enjoy ripping my heart out? Playing yur little game in the forest, 'fore skipping back to yur china dishes and silk sheets?"

"Tom I…"

This time it was the back of his fist that smacked her across her mouth, leaving it bloody, as he shoved her roughly down and stood up. "We have nothing anymore Elizabeth!" he yelled. "Yeh murdered it all! Now yur no more than a deceiving snake te me!"

Viciously, he bent down and grabbed her by her red hair, before pulling her up and throwing her from him back toward the manor hedges. "Go back to yer husband, Whore, and let the dead be!"

Sobbing, Elizabeth struggled up, pulling her dress back around her and pushing her hair from her face. "It's not true Tom!" she cried, "It's not true! There is something that's still between us!"

"I said GO!" raged Tom, pointing toward the hedge and stepping aggressively forward, his face going bright red.

"We have a son!" Elizabeth shouted over his loud temper. "Tom, we share a son!"

"I said- What?" Tom's looked at her in surprise, red rage fading to confusion.

"What de hell are yeh talking 'bout? What son? The only son ah have is…"

"James," interrupted Elizabeth, getting up, tossing her head and wiping blood from her mouth in an attempt to regain some of her cocky dignity. "He's not John's, he's yours Tom."

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**AN: **Please review and tell me what you think!


	3. Chapter 3: Sabertooth and James

**Disclaimer:** I don't' own Sabertooth, or Wolverine, or anything else that Fox or Marvel own.

Chapter Three: **Sabertooth and James**

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It wasn't even nine o'clock, but Victor had already left the hedge clippers and ladder abandoned by the edge of the apple orchard. The birds that'd distracted him had long since fled and he'd now taken their place up in the branches of one of the bigger apple trees. A cautiously nibbled green apple lay cast aside on the ground below and Victor ignored the growling noises from his stomach, as he sat looking over the pleasant sight of the green summer foliage. He was keeping a cat-like eye on the skies, daring any bird to venture into the orchard and didn't notice when someone trespassed in on the ground below.

"Hello Victor!" The cheerful voice caught the teenager off guard and he slipped. Thankfully, he managed to grab the branch and swing down, landing in front of the young child below, as if he'd meant to come down and greet him.

The young boy smiled, looking impressed by the teenager's agility. "I saw your ladder down here. I was hoping I'd find you."

Pushing his hat back, Victor glanced at his abandoned work guiltily. "Yeah?" he asked then looked back at the kid, "Why?"

"Because," answered the boy innocently then pulled an egg keish from the pocket of his blue coat. "I didn't like my breakfast," he explained with a slight grimace, "You want it?"

Victor hesitated, but, when his stomach moaned again, he hastily took the keish and plopped down at the base of the apple tree to eat it. "I thought you had lessons?" he asked once he swallowed the first two big bites.

"Professor Carney was talking to Father about the tiger again and since Nurse was in bed with a headache, I was able to slip outside without anyone noticing," the boy explained with a self-satisfied grin of mischief.

Victor surveyed this as he took another bite, "I thought yeh get sick in the fresh air o' something, James." he mumbled around a mouthful of keish.

The look of disappointment, on the boy's face appeared so betrayed and upset that Victor hastily shrugged his comment off and said, "But that's nonsense." He laughed, "How could such a beautiful day be bad for yeh?" Finishing off the keish, Victor stood up. "Come on I need te trim the hedges, but I'll let yeh help."

"Really!" exclaimed James excitedly.

"Sure," said Victor, "If you bring me something to eat for lunch, I'll let yeh trim the whole hedge yurself."

"Wow! You mean it! Lets go!" James ran over toward the hedge and, smirking, Victor followed suit, sticking his hands into his pockets, as he took long strides behind the boy.

It took a while for Victor to show James how to hold and use the hedge shears and the boy's work was hardly perfection, but Victor didn't care. It was pleasant to idly stand around, holding the ladder steady now and then and listening to James' childish jabber, while the kid did his work for him.

".. and Father says I should be a doctor when I grow up, but I think I'd rather be a veterinarian, so I can have a dog. See, Father won't let me have one now, 'cuz it might make me sick," explained James and cut off another hunk of hedge.

Where he was standing at the base of the ladder, hands in his pockets, Victor looked up incredulously. "Hel-... I mean, um…Yeh could be a doctor and still have a dog, James. Yeh could be anything and have a dog."

"Well, I want to be able to take care of it properly," clarified James seriously, "And veterinarians take care dogs and all animals."

"Hrm, I see," Victor shrugged, "Yeh finished with the top there?"

James gave some final digging chops and nodded, "Yeah I'm all done. I'm coming down now."

Victor held the ladder steady and James smiled at him, as he came down. "This is way more fun than French lessons," he said, "Thanks for letting me help you."

Victor smiled widely back, "Any time! Just don't tell anyone alright?"

James hesitated, looking at his friend. "Victor?" he asked curiously, "Why do you have big teeth like that? I haven't seen anyone else with teeth like yours."

Victor's smile vanished, as he hastily coved his fangs with his lips and scowled. "My teeth aint big," he growled.

"Yes they are," the boy pressed, "Big and sharp, like the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood, or a Sabertooth Tiger."

"A what?" asked Victor still scowling, as James jumped off the ladder and let the large shears drop into the grass.

"A Sabertooth Tiger. There used to be lots of them around here, but they all died and you and Logan found one in that cave. Don't you remember?"

"We found a bunch of damn bones is all," sulked Victor, "They weren't no tiger."

"Yes they were. It was extinct," insisted James, "No human being has ever seen a live one." His blue eyes were wide and very serious with excitement, "But they've made drawings of them! Father showed me one in a book. Sabertooth tigers were huge!" he spread his thin arms wide to illustrate, "And they didn't have stripes like other tigers. Instead, they had great big teeth, like you." He smiled widely and laughed a little, "I wish I had teeth like that. Wait I know!"

Victor watched with amused curiosity, as James searched the sheared bits of hedge, picking out two small sticks and striping them of their leaves. "There!" the boy celebrated, as he stuck them under his upper lip so they stuck out like two long wooden teeth. Holding them place, he smiled. "Now I'm like you!"

Victor smiled slightly, but it quickly faded and he bent to pick up the shears and move on down the hedge, "Yeh aint like me James," he said darkly, "No one is."

James pulled the sticks out of his mouth, his black hair rippling slightly in a breeze laden with the summer smells of pollen and flowers. "Don't be sad," he said then sneezed twice, before following Victor, down the hedgerow. "Father says God made everyone special. Everyone's got a unique gift, maybe yours is big teeth."

Victor chuckled a little, "Big teeth eh?" he said, looking over at James, as he set the ladder up again, "What's yur gift then?" he teased, "Getting sick all the time?"

James sneezed again, coughing slightly, as the wind blew by again, "Maybe," he chuckle a little breathlessly, "But Mother says I'm pretty as an angel and that's my gift."

Victor scoffed, "Well Angel Boy, I think I'd rather have big teeth than something as God damned girly as that!"

James nodded through watery eyes "Yeah, me too…" he suddenly broke into a fit of gasping coughs, clutching his chest.

"James!" exclaimed Victor alarmed, as the coughing became louder and more panicked. Then, as James fell down, Victor lunged to his side in concern. "James! Are yeh all right!"

Eyes wide and frightened, James desperately clutched Victor's coat. Obviously he was not all right.

"James hold on! I'll get help. Just hold on!" Scampering hurriedly to his feet, Victor dashed away down the hedgerow, using both his hands and feet to run, as he turned a corner. The first person he saw was Elizabeth Howlett, coming out of the forest and then his father striding after her. They appeared to be arguing, but Victor didn't wait to think about it, as he ran over, sliding to a halt in front of them. "Hurry, James is choking, or having a fit, or something. He needs help!"

"What! WHERE!" Victor only had time to register his surprise that his father looked as alarmed as Mrs. Howlett, before Tom grabbed him by the coat and shook him. "Where Boy!' his father shouted.

"Apple orchard!" gasped Victor, "Hurry."

Mrs. Howlett had already dashed toward the orchard and Tom threw Victor roughly to the ground, before running after her.

Tom quickly overtook Elizabeth and rounded the hedge first. Seeing the small form of James coughing on the ground by the ladder, he dashed over and knelt by the boy, looking down at him and pushing sweaty hair from his blue face. "James, son? Oh my God boy, breath! Damn it!" He made to pick James up in his arms, but Elizabeth came running up and shoved him back.

"Get away from him!" she shouted fiercely, "Don't you _touch_ him!" Dropping beside her son, she gathered him onto her arms. "James! Oh God! I'm here. Mother's here."

"He needs te be taken to the house!" shouted Tom, as Victor ran up panting.

Elizabeth ignored Tom, as she struggled to stand up still holding James, who suddenly didn't look so small.

"M- Mother!" gasped James, heaving and coughing, as he clung to her neck, nearly dragging her back down.

"Lizzy, fer God's sake let me carry him!" yelled Tom pushing forward.

"GET AWAY!" she screeched, not sounding at all ladylike, or charming, but succeeding in stopping Tom in his tracks, so she could turn and stumbled toward the house as quickly as she could, with James clinging to her neck.

"You," she gasped, her dark, frantic eyes landing on Victor standing by, "Go get Mr. Howlett! Quickly! And tell him to call the doctor!"

Victor nodded and dash on ahead. By the time he followed John Howlett and a half-dozen other servants out the door a minute later, Elizabeth had nearly made it to the house. Her husband quickly took James from her arms and the boy was rushed inside, Elizabeth still clinging to his hand.

Victor and Tom were left alone on the lawn, both looking toward the house with concerned expressions and gritted teeth. They looked more alike than either of them would have guessed, as each of them clasped their old hats in their fists.

"He'll get better, right?" Victor finally asked, looking up at Tom nervously.

Tom pulled his stormy eyes off the manor windows and stabbed Victor with a fierce glare. "He better recover, fer your sake, Boy!" he raged, "What de hell were yeh doing with him outside!"

Victor stepped back surprised at the red rage flaring up in his father. Tom wasn't even drunk and since when had he cared about James Howlett? "He was just talk'n te me," Victor protested fearfully. "I think he gets lonely and…"

Before he said another word, Tom grabbed him by the back of the coat and dragged him with angry strides toward their cabin. "Ah told yeh to work. Monsters like you shouldn't even be 'round the likes o' him!"

Tom dragged Victor up the cabin porch and shoved him inside, before going in himself. He slammed the door behind him with so much force, it freighted a family of blackbirds out of a nearby tree, with a fluttering swoosh.

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**AN: **Hope you liked this chapter. Please review.


	4. Chapter 4: Family Plans

**Disclaimer: **Well, actually, I do feel that Elizabeth and Tom are mostly mine, seeing as they are hardly more than names in the movie, but I don't own those names, nor do I own the Wolverine Origins movie and I'm not making any money here. All credit to Marvel and Fox ect.

Chapter Four: **Family Plans**

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Elizabeth had kept a garden ever since she married John Howlett and moved into his large Victorian mansion. Over the years it had only grown bigger and more varied. Now days it consumed a large portion of the mansion grounds, as well as a good portion of Mrs. Howlett's time, especially in the summer time.

Her garden was an enchanting place. Honeydew and ivy climbed the trunks of spreading oaks and tulips and lilies grew in beds around the roots. Roses and snapdragons, irises and oleanders. Her garden was as varied and colorful as the rest of the Canadian summer. It was obviously well cared for, but also had a somewhat disorderly and wild look. Flowers of every kind grew side by side in an almost chaotic manner and there weren't many straight lines. The sprawl almost seemed distorted in places, like the scribbles and smudges of a child's drawing. This garden was Elizabeth's sanctuary and after so many years it was more of an extension of her personality than just an ordinary garden.

She worked in it now, as if it were the only place on Earth. Her eyes down and focused, a pensive frown was tightening her lips and the deep scores in the ground was evidence of her pent up ferocity. Only when a particularly bold robin hopped close to peck at the turned earth, did she lift her gaze. "Yesterday was nothing but disaster!" she said out loud, as if the robin was a bosom friend, who'd just arrived for tea. "A disaster!" she stabbed the ground with a particular harshness and the aghast robin fluttered to a nearby rose bush.

"James is sick again, thanks to that dreadful asthma attack," Elizabeth continued, apparently still speaking to the robin, even though she was looking back at the ground again. "Doctor Kymbol says he has a fever and his breathing is still weak as ever."

She fell silent, still frowning as she dug out weed after weed. Warily the robin hopped closer once again and soon its mate joined it, pulling at grass and leaves. They seemed to almost forget about the lady working beside them, until she suddenly let out an unexpected sob.

"Oh, why did I tell him! Why?" She threw down her spade the two robins fled back to the rosebush in alarm, "What have I done? What devil seized my tongue and caused me to tell that animal the truth about James!"

Visibly shaking, Elizabeth bit her lip and then buried her face in her gloves, ignoring the summer bugs buzzing around her and the robins, who decided it was best to abandon the scene and return to their nest in the oak above.

"My son… my son… my only son," she murmured, "What have I done…" Face pale and smudged with dirt, Elizabeth picked up her spade again, mechanically going back to work, once again oblivious to her surroundings.

Several minutes later she was still so lost in regret, she wasn't aware of Tom's approach, until his dark shadow fell thickly across her dirty gloves.

"Lizzy?"

"Tom!" Dropping her spade, she turn fearfully around, "What are you-"

"We need te talk," he said sternly and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet and behind the garden shed a few feet away.

"No. Tom," shaking off his grip, she jerked away, glaring at him. "I.. I can't talk to you. Just forget everything I said yesterday. It meant nothing." Hastily she tried to leave, but Tom's face had gone red and he grabbed her shoulder, shoving her roughly against the shed wall.

"Listen to me, Elizbeth! Yeh can keep on denying me, denying us," Tom's voice was forced and emotional and his eyes flashed, as he kept Elizabeth pinned to the shed, "But yeh can't deny me my own son! Yeh got no right!"

"I have every right!" screamed Elizabeth, suddenly loosing her temper and shoving his hands away with surprising strength, "What are you Tom! A drunken old mountain-man, living in a little'ol cabin, at my husband's good will. You are nothing! I owe you nothing!"

She started to march away, but with a furious roar, Tom grabbed her waist and threw her to the ground, lunging down on top of her and grabbing the collar of her blouse, like he wanted to strangle her. "Yeh ungrateful bitch!"

"Tom No! Please!"

His heavy hand slapped her hard on the face. "After all ah did fer you! Ah saved your life, Lizzy! We were everything! You were… EVERYTHING! Everything to me..." Tom's enraged voice faded into choked breaths and seeing tears streaming in Elizabeth's eyes, his rage dissolved away, like salt in the rain. His eyes stopped flashing and he looked at her, remembering their happy years so very long ago.

"Tom!" gasped Elizabeth softly, tears welling in her eyes and down her red cheek, "Please! I don't..." taking a shuttering breath, she turned her head away, trying not to look at him, even though her hand reached out to clasped his.

Tom looked away and then got up, helping her off the ground as well. "Listen Lizzy," he said in a dark, heavy tone, "Ah know yeh better than anyone, better than Howlett, probably even better than yeh even know yurself, so I'm making a decision. We're going away. The three of us. You, me and our boy."

"No Tom-"

"Ah said listen te me!" An angry growl was sinking back into his tone, fierce and determined. "Yeh know where the safe is in the manner. Tonight ah want yeh to pack a bag and fill it with the money kept in the safe. Then get the boy and meet me outside, by the garden gate."

Elizabeth was shaking her head, lips pressed tight together, fear making her bruised face turn pale. Tom shook her, stepping close, so that his stinking breath ruffled through the red ringlets on her forehead. "Lizzy don't yeh understand? With the money we can go away and make our own home. I'd build yeh a house, maybe not so fine as Howlett's, but it'd be real. Somewhere up in the mountains, where the eagles fly and all the flowers grow wild and free. We'd be a real family Lizzy! Don't Yeh see? A Family! Just like we were always meant te be."

Elizabeth bit her lip, shaking her head and trying not to look at him, "Tom," she sobbed, "I can't. It's impossible. Our old dreams have been dead a long, long time." Pushing him away, she struggled free and made to leave for the manner.

"Elizabeth!" Tom shouted after her, "If you and my son aren't there te meet me, then I'm coming in to get yeh. Did you hear me, Girl! I'm coming to get yeh!"

Elizabeth paused then, grabbing up her skirts, she ran the rest of the way to the mansion, her face pale and her breath fast and frantic in her chest.

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**AN: **Please Review! :)


	5. Chapter 5: Another Father and Son

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Wolverine, or sabertooth tigers, or anything else that belongs to Marvel or Fox. I'm not trying to make money off this and have no legal rights to it.

Chapter Five: **Another Father and Son**

**Warning: **I'm afraid this chapter is mostly fluff. I know we don't usually read Wolverine Fanfics looking for G-rated fluffiness and I'm sorry. I didn't intend to draw this scene out so long, but once I started I couldn't stop and it ended up being a good foil to the first chapter and also a good introduction to John Howlett. So take the fluff and please leave a review anyway :P

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"Just be sure to rest and stay indoors. And don't overexcite yourself."

James nodded with a small cough, managing to give a small, grateful smile.

John Howlett gently squeezed his boy's small, fragile hand and looked up at the middle-aged man with a stethoscope. "Thank you Dr. Kymbol. You have no idea how grateful we are that you were here today."

Kymbol nodded, as he put his things away, but he couldn't quite smile. This wilderness was no place for a sick, little boy and he could only foresee tragedy ahead for the Howletts, but, "I'm going to go have a cup of tea," was all he said out loud.

"Yes of course," John said, "I believe Elizabeth is out in her garden again, but just ask Mrs. Bailey."

"Thank you," replied Kymbol, pushing up his spectacles, before leaving the sickroom.

As the door shut, John placed his other hand over James' and tried to give the boy an encouraging smile. "You've been very brave," he said, "Would you like me to get you some water?"

"I'm all right," James said, "It's not like," he coughed, "I've never been sick before." He coughed again, but managed a ruthful smile, "I'll get well. I always do."

John smiled and fondly pushed James's hair back from his fevered head, "Thank God for that."

"You think that's my gift?" James asked and, when his father looked confused, he coughed and explained. "Getting well. Maybe god knew I'd always be getting sick," James coughed again, "So, ugh, He gave me the gift of being able to always get better."

"Well," John said, "That's probably true." He decided not to point out the fact that God could have saved them all a lot of pain and worry by never letting James get sick in the first place.

"I was talking.. Ahegchah… to Victor about it yesterday. I told him Mother said my gift was being pretty, but…" he coughed, "That's a silly gift, don't you think?"

John pursed his lips thoughtfully, "Well," he said, then smiled a little, "I suppose it is rather silly, but you have lots of other gifts to be thankful for."

James coughed. "Like what?"

John began tucking the covers warmly around James, "Like a good home, and people who care for you." He leaned over and kissed his son's forehead, "And you should know that your mother and I love you very much."

James smiled, coughed, but then recovered quickly and tucked his hands behind his head, "Yeah," he said and a spark of mischief appeared in his eyes, "That's nice and all, but it don't look as cool as sabertooth teeth."

John lifted an amused eyebrow, "Sabertooth teeth?"

"Yeah, like Vic… Ahackegaah!... tor. He's got teeth just like those bones we found and like in the… ahackgah… the picture you… ugh… showed me."

John frowned slightly. He didn't approve of his son playing with Tom Logan's teenage son and the boy's strange… appearance, didn't make things any better.

"You know," James pressed, not understanding the frown on his father's face, "The one in that…" he sat up, coughed and then pulled a heavy book off his bedside table. Its title was _Prehistoric_ _Predators of North America. _"…In this book." With another cough James began flipping through the pages, many of which contain pictures and sketches. "Here. See?" James dropped the heavy book onto his father's lap. "The sabertooth tiger!"

John looked at the excited smile on James' face and then lifted the book, looking at the picture and clearing his throat with an impression of grave interest, "Ah yes, I see. Same as the bones discovered. Quite a marvelous creature."

James smiled and leaned on his father's shoulder, so he could see the picture as well. "I bet… agackah... I bet it wasn't ever afraid of anything when it was alive. Nothing else in that book has teeth like it does."

"Perhaps," John said, flipping through the pages, "But there are things better than big teeth."

"Like… ahackah..ugh-ah… Like what? Oh look at that!" James put a hand out to stop his father from turning the page on a picture of a small, hairy, but fierce looking animal with long front claws."

John lifted his eyebrows and leaned back, trying to read the description without his glasses. "That's the wolverine," he said then let out a ruthful chuckle, "I don't know much about wild animals, but I do know that the wolverine's certainly a mean and fearless creature."

James looked up at him. "How do you… agahack… know?"

"I had the misfortune to run one over with the carriage last time I was on a trip to New York." John shook his head, as if he still didn't believe his memory. "I don't know if it was mad, or trying to attack the horses, or what, but it busted up the wheel and when we got out to see what had happened, we were amazed to find it still alive and fighting too. Nearly took off Henry's hand. Crazy devil seemed ready to kill us all."

"Wow," James said and then looked back at the picture in the book, "You think it's meaner than the sabertooth tiger was?"

"I don't know about that," John said, closing the book with a smile, "I one thing I do know is that sabertooth tigers are extinct, but wolverines are still around today and getting hit by carriages on the way to New York."

James laughed and then coughed harder than usual. Concerned, John put his hands on James' shoulders, helping him to lie back down and catch his breath.

"Why… ah…. why don't you think the wolverine died out like the sabertooth tiger, father?"

"Probably because the wolverine is a stubborn little monster, who gets run over by four horses and a carriage and still thinks he's winning the fight." John grinned and pushed James' hair back. "But do you know who the real winners are James?"

James shook his head.

"We are. For a million years this county was nothing but a mean, cold and bitter place. Then you and me and your mother started living here and everything has changed. Suddenly, we've made this a place of warmth, wisdom and love. And that's better than anything else in this whole wide world," John grinned and took James' hand, "Even better than tiger teeth."

James smiled and spread his hand open, placing it palm to palm with John's and comparing the familiar size and shape of both their hands together. "I love you," he said.

John bent down and kissed James' head again. "I love you too, now…"

There was the sound of a door slamming and Elizabeth's voice could be heard shouting in an urgent, harried voice, "John! John?"

Her tone made John's brow crease with worry, but he quickly cleared it, before James could see. "… Now get some rest, like Dr. Kymbol said." Patting the blankets he got up to blow out the lamp and walk to the door. "I'll be in to check on you later son," he promised and left to go down to his anxious wife.

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**AN: **Yeah… Enter John Howlett the one sane person in the whole mess. Hope you all liked the happy, fluffy, father-son scene. Things only go downhill from here. Please leave a review.


	6. Chapter 6: John and Elizabeth

**Disclaimer: **Obviously, I don't own anything someone else rightfully owns, not Sabertooth, Wolverine or Canada or anything else that's Marvel's or Fox's.

**AN: **Hey look! I'm actually posting another chapter. I'll finish this fic someday I swear.

Chapter Six: **John and Elizabeth**

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"John! John?" Elizabeth's voice was almost frantic, as she hurried inside, not even caring that she was tracking mud all over the clean floors. "John!"

She stopped at the parlor door, clutching the frame, as she looked about for her husband. Inside, Dr. Kymbol and Mrs. Bailey looked back in amazement at her muddied dress and red face.

"My word Madam!"

"Are you hurt? Whatever has happened?"

"No, no," panted Elizabeth, her face turning a little redder with shame, "I'm alright. I just need to speak to-"

"Elizabeth? Are you-"

"John!" Elizabeth turned quickly, as her husband came up behind her, "I need you." Taking his arm, she pulled him quickly down the hall and through the first door they came to, which just so happened to lead into his library.

"My dear, what's wrong? Your face…"

Elizabeth clasped his hand and pressed it against her cheek, which was still red and bruised where Tom had hit her. "Never mind me. It's James."

He looked at her, clearly overwhelmed and bewildered by her words and actions. "James…? He's going to be fine. He still has a bad cough, but his fever is going down and…"

"No no, not the fever! Damn the fever! … Oh John!" her eyes were filling with tears and the look she gave her husband was so emotional and desperate that John felt like he should either be screaming, or fainting, or crying. All he ended up doing was staring at her in more confusion.

Choking back sobs, Elizabeth dropped his hand and turned away. "Oh, John, I… I have to tell you something and…"

"Elizabeth, its alright. What's going on?" he asked, tentatively putting a hand on her shoulder.

The soft touch seemed to trigger something and she suddenly turned and buried herself in his arms, crying into his silk waistcoat like a frightened child. John glanced about uncertainly, before carefully patting her head and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "What is it Dear? What do you need to tell me?"

"John I'm so sorry! You don't deserve this!"

He couldn't help but silently agree that having his overly emotional wife sobbing into his arms without telling him why really was something he could do without, but he suppressed that idea and tried his best to calm her down.

"My dear, it's alright. You're my wife I love you. What's going on? … James is fine. I just saw him and…"

"And he's not yours!" wailed Elizabeth.

"What?" John asked completely caught off guard and not sure he had heard right. "Eliza…"

"John I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Elizabeth cried, stepping back and taking a firm hold on his coat as she looked up at his eyes, "It was Tom. I… I couldn't help myself John! I loved him and you were gone away to New York and I …" Tears still filled her eyes and she buried her head into his waistcoat once more.

This time John didn't try to hold her or comfort her, he just stared over her head not at all sure what to think. His mouth opened and closed and his usually stoic face blanched as his thoughts tried to come to rational terms about what she'd said. "Are…are you sure?" he asked hesitantly.

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, yes I am. You thought he was born early, but he wasn't. He wasn't early, he was just… so small…" She sniffed.

John's eyes lifted toward the ceiling and James' bedroom above then fell back to Elizabeth sobbing into his arms. His mouth tightened and a look of stubborn determination came to his usually soft features, as he wrapped his arms possessively around his wife.

"Its alright," he said and he no longer sounded confused. Kissing the top of her head, he continued in a low voice, "James is my son no matter what and you will always be my wife." He brushed her hair back from her face and gently kissed the wedding ring on her hand, before leading her to the library chair and helping her to sit down.

Elizabeth cried for a few moments longer and John knelt patiently by her chair, lending her his handkerchief and holding her hand in his. She clutched it gratefully and eventually, blew her red nose and stopped sniffling. "Thank you," she said, "Thank you… I should have told you sooner. I'm sorry."

He nodded and tried to give her a weak smile. "Why did you tell me now?" he asked quietly, "After all these years."

Elizabeth took in a sharp breath and adverted her eyes, "Its because of Tom. Tom found out the truth and now he…" A frightened tremor came into her voice, threatening to break into more crying, "He wants to take James away John! James and me both!"

Turning, she clutched his arm and looked into John's face with dark sincere eyes, her voice taking on a harsh, urgent edge. "He's dangerous John! He said he'd come for us and I know he will! He ordered me to take the money from the safe and meet him by the garden with James, but I can't do that! No matter what, I can't let James fall into his hands! John you have to do something!"

For a moment John looked at her almost blankly, his eyes searching her face, as if trying to peer through her and see something more. Then his expression hardened and he gripped her hand with tight reassurance. "I will. I promise. Tom Logan won't touch a hair on James' head. Elizabeth, I'll do whatever I have to in order to protect my family."

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**AN: **Thanks for reading. Please review.


	7. Chapter 7: Logan and Howlett

**Disclaimer: **You've all heard it before. I have no rights to these characters.

Chapter Seven: **Logan and Howlett **

**Warning: **This chapter has more child abuse and some heavy cursing.

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"No Pa! Don't! I'm-" Victor's pleas were cut off by another vicious blow of Tom's stick against his jaw.

"I SAID HOLD STILL!" Tom tackled the large teenager to the floor, ramming a knee into his son's stomach and dropping the stick, so he could grab both Victor's hands and wrap a chain tightly around them. "Yer a god damned freak, an animal! I'll not have yeh around te mess things up fer me anymore!"

When Victor tried to resist the chain, Tom punched him twice in the face, before snapping a lock in place and pulling Victor towards the cellar door. "I'm leave'n tonight and you aint come'n with me, yeh hear! I'll not have yeah 'round Lizzy and my boy!"

Victor gasped, trying to catch his breath through the blood of a broken nose and push through the darkness that was threatening to overcome him. "What are yeh talk'n 'bout? Pa, please!"

Tom pulled open the heavy trap door, leading to the dugout hole in the ground used as a cellar and shoved Victor down the few steps, before slamming the door closed and bolting it in place. A moment later there was a thud as Victor tried to escape. "Pa let me out! We're family yeh can't-"

"We aint family, freak! I got a son and it aint you. I'm taking him with me tonight!" Tom kicked the cellar door and picked up a jug of gin, "Now shut up, or I'll come down thar and cut yer throat like the animal yer are!"

Victor shut his mouth. Right now he wasn't sure that his father wouldn't do exactly as he said. He wasn't sure if Tom was drunk, sincere, or insane. Maybe it was some devilish mix of all three. Desperately, he pressed his shoulder against the door, but the bolt and wood stood solidly against him. Leaving him trapped in the little cellar, which was hardly larger than a grave.

In the cabin, Tom guzzled his gin, glaring at the cellar door for a moment, until satisfied that Victor was suitably obedient. Then he turned and slumped down into his chair, pulling his rifle close and beginning to take it apart and clean it. There were a few more thumps and scratches at the cellar door, but soon even those fell silent.

He was nearly done with the rifle, when there was some heavy knocking. Not from the cellar, but from the front door. Surprised, Tom glared over at the door for a moment, before getting up to answer it, wondering if Elizabeth had come back.

"Mr. Logan," It was John Howlett, standing there with a pistol belt on his waist and a dark frown on his face, "I'm here to tell you that you are to pack your things and leave." He pushed the door open wider and stepped into the cabin. "I want you gone by tonight. I never want to see you on my property again."

Tom scowled, "Oh, I don't think you need worry 'bout that. I had every 'tention of leaving."

With surprising force John grabbed Tom by his coat and slammed him against the cabin wall. "Elizabeth told me what happened, Logan. I know the truth and I know what you're planning." He shook the mountain man and leaned forward, ignoring the foul smell of liquor in his face. "If you take one step into my house, if you touch my son, I swear I'll have you arrested and beaten until there's no skin left on your hairy back! And then I'll see you hang, Tom Logan."

Tom stared back at him and then smirked. "_Yer_ son? I though yeh said Lizzy told yeh what happened? Did the dear wife forget to mention that she-"

"She told me everything," John said in a low voice, "I don't give a damn about who conceived him. James is my son and I would rather die than see you take him from me!"

Tom glared, hate burning in his gaze. "Would yeh now?... After all yeh took from me?" Tom pushed off the wall, shoving John viciously away from him and stepping aggressively forward, pointing an accusing finger. "Yeh took every I loved, John Howlett! Yeh stole a future with Elizabeth that should'a been mine! Yeh no good, rich son'ov a bitch!"

Grabbing the closest thing at hand, Tom threw a broken beaver trap at John's head. John dodged and it clanged against the cellar door, startling Victor, who was holding his breath and listening below.

"Yeh took everything ah ever wanted and ah'l be blowed, if yeh take my son - my own God-given son - away as well!" Tom lunched at John, but the Englishman moved quickly to the side, leaving Tom to crash into the table. Grabbing up the gin jug, John Howlett smashed it over Tom's head and watched the drunk crumple to the floor with a moan.

"God knows better than to give you a thing Logan." John said, leaning down and whispering vehemently over him, "You're scum, Logan, a lazy useless drunk, wasting space up here until it's finally your turn to die and burn in Hell. You are _never_ going to have James or Elizabeth. They're _mine_."

Tom moaned and John stood up, tossing the remains of the jug into the corner and kicking some dirty clothes out of his way. "The next time I see you Logan, I'll have you shot." So saying, the master of the manner marched out of the cabin and slammed the door behind him.

"Fuck'n bastard," Tom cursed, staggering to his feet and rubbing his head, "We'll just see who shoots first, John-Fucking-Howlett." Picking up his rifle, Tom put together the last pieces and loaded it. "James is my son and I'll see yeh both dead, 'fore I let him spend another night in that house!"

In the cellar, Victor bit his lip, his thoughts spinning. James was his father's son… The kid was his little brother, or at least he was his half brother! In any case, James was family and he was in danger. That much was obvious from the tone in Tom's voice.

Frantically, Victor struggled against the chain bound about his wrists, trying to slip it over his hands. Almost fit…

Victor swallowed back a cry of pain, as some bones in his hands cracked, but threw the chain away. There was no way he was getting through the cellar door, without his father knowing, so he turned to the outer wall and put his claws to work against the packed earth and old wood. Victor hoped he could only dig fast enough to get to James before his father did. He wasn't going to let Tom take his brother. He wasn't going to let James out of his sight, ever!

Outside the sun was gradually sinking lower into the bosom of the mountains, insects buzzed and somewhere in the distance wolves began to howl an evening prelude. Only the wind was silent and summer seemed to grow heavy under the cover of the still trees.

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**AN: **And I think everything is about ready to dive into where the movie starts. Hopefully I'll be finishing this story pretty soon.

Also, just to let y'all know, I went back and polished up the previous chapters, fixing as many of my numerous grammatical mistakes as I could. The only chapter I really changed in content was chapter four. I revised the introduction of Elizabeth working in her garden. If anyone cares to make any suggestions of other mistakes or changes I should make, just let me know. I'd appreciate the help. Thanks a lot for reading and please review.


	8. Chapter 8: The End

**Disclaimer: **I really disclaim this chapter. I'm just taking the movie dialogue and all and transcribing it. Marvel and Fox own all this.

Chapter Eight: **The End**

**Warning: **This chapter has death and violence.

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The steady sounds of the summer night permeated the manner, insects buzzing and wind ripping through the trees and over the dark, gurgling creek. It blew through the open windows of the mansion, causing the curtains to flutter and the lights of the fire and kerosene lamps to shutter, flickering warmly on the wooden future and the pale faces of Victor and James.

The wind smelled of dead leaves, lavender and a coming storm. Quietly, Victor sniffed and then lowered his head to concentrate on the knife in his hands. Over in his bed, James coughed and Victor frowned, cutting away at the thick boney appendages of his fingernails. Save for the endless chores of bugs outside, silence was settled in the small, fire lit room. After an hour's worth of childish prattling, James had finally worn himself out and was just sitting there and wheezing, as he watched Victor fiddle with the knife.

"You're always sick," Victor muttered, breaking the silence.

"*Akh-koff-ah* You were sick when you were my age," James retorted, looking back with a mixture of exhaustion and defiance. He was dressed in a red robe, which seemed to accentuate his deathly pale skin and his mop of dark hair.

Victor scowled, but before he could reply, he heard a heavy step in the hall and the scent of John Howlette reached him, just as the door was pushed open. Having snuck in the window, Victor hastily jumped up, but it was too late to find a place to hide. Instead, he merely hid his hands and knife behind his back.

John took him in with a mixture of surprise and displeasure. He knew from James' frequent conversation that James considered Victor a friend, but he trusted the boy little more than he trusted the father and if Victor was still here, then that meant Tom probably hadn't left the estate either.

"Evening Sir," Victor said with hasty nervousness.

John surveyed him warily, but kept his tone as polite as ever, "Evening Victor. I didn't realize you were still here." Turning from the teenager, John when to sit beside his son.

"I was just keeping James company, Sir, if that's alright." Victor explained, watching John with dark eyes. He couldn't help but notice that John didn't have his guns with him a the moment.

"Very kind of you," John muttered, not bothering to look at Victor, as he leaned forward to tenderly feel James' forehead, concentrating all his attention on him. "Feeling better Son?" he asked, pushing a dark strand of sweaty hair from James' blue eyes.

"Still cold, Father," James answered, leaning back in his pillows.

"It's just a mild fever," John assured, "You'll be alright in the morning."

James smiled, taking his father's warm hand, "You always say that."

John chuckled kindly "And you always pull through."

"Yeah," James nodded, his smile down right angelic, as he looked up into John's face.

As he watched, Victor couldn't help but feel a bitter knot of jealously in his stomach. For a moment, he wanted to rip them both apart. It wasn't fair. This wasn't the way things were supposed to be, for him or James. If they were really brothers, why did James have a father who came to him with a kind touch and comforting words, rather than a brutal sick and curses? Why were they so different?

"Now," John said, reaching to take a small glass bottle from the bedside table, "You've taken your medicine?"

"Yeah," James nodded then started, looking toward the open door, as the sound of harsh bangs and yells were heard down the stairs.

"_Open it up!" _

Victor recognized his father's roar and tensed where he stood, looking down the hall in alarm, as the banging continued. "_Open it up! Open up!"_

"Your father's drunk again," John said, glancing quickly at Victor, "You should help him home Victor."

Victor glared. He wasn't leaving James.

"It's not my name he's calling, Sir," he said he eyes hard, as he glared back as John.

"_Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"_ came Tom's shout and there was a crash, as the door burst open downstairs.

Elizabeth's shrill voice was heard and John jumped quickly to his feet, angry determination replacing the gentle fatherliness in his face.

"Father!" James cried in alarm, reaching after him.

"_Get off me!"_ Came Elizabeth's angry shrieks and James' eyes widen with fear.

"Stay here, James," John ordered fiercely, before leaving the room with long strides. Victor followed, closing the door behind him.

In the front hall, Elizabeth and Tom were struggling by the open door, shouting in each other's faces. Tom had Elizabeth's arm in one hand and his rifle in the other and his bearded face was red with rage. "I told you I'd come. I told you!" he was snarling.

"Get you hands off her!" John shouted, with all the rage and authority of a British major general. He hardly seemed to glance at the weapon, as he rushed fearlessly down the steps. Victor, on the other hand, stayed behind on the landing, sticking close to the dark wall.

"Where's my boy! You got no right to keep him." Tom growled, turning to face John.

"I told you never to come back here!" shouted John, crossing the floor toward Tom.

Tom didn't hesitate a moment. Even drunk, he was the best shot in the all the Northwest Territories and John Howlette was hardly six feet away. Lifted the rifle he pulled the trigger with a bang and a blaze of gun smoke.

Elizbeth shrieked and even Victor bit back a cry of alarm, as John was thrown back with a spray of blood, hitting the polished floors of the manner hall with a thump.

"No no!" Ferociously, Elizabeth beat Tom with her fists, but Tom hardly seemed to notice, as he pulled her toward the door, looking at what he'd done without regret.

It was then that a flash of red ran past Victor, as James streaked down the steps, falling down to his father's side in frantic alarm and disbelief. Quivering, James looked down at the blood and his father's pale face.

Even through the pain, John managed to lift his head to look up at James with gentle regret. Shakily, he raised a bloody hand to his son's cheek. "J-Jimmy," he stammered quietly and managed to softly squeeze James' shoulder, before his hand and head fell back to the floor.

They all saw John Howlette's eyes roll back in death.

"No," cried Elizabeth, her red hair falling in her face, as she bowed her head.

"James?" Tom asked, lowering his gun and looking solemnly at the boy, now kneeling in the pool of blood. Slowly, James looked up, his pale face a mask of disbelief and rage. Victor had never seen so much hate burn in a child's eyes.

"There are things you don't understand," said Tom, his tone unusually calm and sober.

"Don't!" cried Elizabeth, trying to pull from his grasp.

"I need him to know!" shouted Tom at her, spittle flying from his lips.

"Please no."

"No more lies." Tom's voice was determined, but he looked back at James, as something caused Elizabeth's eyes to widen.

Victor's breath caught, as he saw something extend from James' hands. Six sharp spikes, growing from his knuckles like the spines of a thorny tree. James looked at them in horror, lifting his hands as they just kept growing, blood spilling out all around them. They extended nearly a foot, before James suddenly went berserk. Seized with blind rage, he yelled at the ceiling like a furious animal, his strange claws held out to either side then got up and rushed at Tom with all the speed and furry of a wild dog.

Tom lifted his gun, his face a mask of surprise, but unflinching. He pulled the trigger to shoot, but Elizabeth grabbed the rifle, jerking it away, just before it went off. There was a bang, followed by a thud as the little boy rammed into Tom Logan. All six of his claws buried themselves in Tom's stomach and the strength of the attack was enough to slam the man against the wooden doors.

"James!" Elizabeth sobbed, dropping the gun in shock and stepping back, as she saw Tom pinned to the manor doors, blood gushing where her son's fists were planted.

Tom's back was ridged with shock and pain and he took several heavy breaths, writhing and looking down at the face of his attacker. Young as he was, James had his mouth twisted in a savage snarl and passionate hate burned in his eyes, like the hate of hardened warrior.

"He… he wasn't your father," Tom gasped, a hand clasping James' shoulder, as he sagged against the doors.

Victor still held his breath, as he saw James quiver and go pale. Turning his head, James looked at back at John's body then at his mother. Elizabeth took a shaky breath, but didn't deny it.

Numbly, James looked back up at Tom.

"S-son," gasped Tom, then crashed lifelessly to the floor, as James staggered back, pulling his claws away. Frightened and confused, he turned large eyes to Elizbeth, who was now kneeling on the floor, her horrified eyes fixed on Tom's body in disbelief. Slowly she raised her eyes to James and there was repulsion in them. "What are you?" she breathed.

James shook, like a half drowned cat and then bolted from the room, running out into the night in a blaze of red robe and bare feet.

Watching him go, Elizabeth sobbed then crawled over the floor to Tom, pulling his head into her lap. She looked up, when Victor scrambled out of the shadows and down the steps, grey eyes staring at his father and fanged mouth agape.

"He's dead!" she shrieked, harsh sobs, unlike any she'd ever cried, rising in her throat. "NO! He's dead! He killed him! Tom! TOM! OHoh!"

Victor didn't wait to hear any more. Snapping his mouth closed, he dashed out after James, leaving the body of his father behind in the cradle of Elizabeth's arms.

A moment later, there was the scramble of feet, as several of the servants and Dr. Kymbol crashed into the room, but Elizabeth already had taken Tom's rifle in her hands.

"It was all my fault," she whispered, looking over at Dr. Kymbol with a tear-streaked face. "I never should have left him." She looked mournfully down at Tom and put her hand on the trigger.

"Ma'am!" shouted Kymbol, jumping forward, but it was too late. Elizabeth shoved the barrel under her chin and shot herself with a loud crack of gunfire. Dr Kymbol and the others watched in horror, as Elizabeth Howlette collapsed between Tom Logan and her husband, John Howlette.

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**AN: **All I have left is the epilogue, which will be coming out soon. Hope you all liked this chapter, even though it was pretty much the same as the movie scene. Leave me a review. Please!


	9. Chapter 9: Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Wolverine or Sabertooth. All rights belong to Fox and Marvel. Also while I'm at it, I should give some credit to Emily Bronte and her book Wuthering Heights. As some of you have noticed the whole Elizabeth, Tom and John love triangle and based off the love triangle in Wuthering Heights and I took a lot of inspiration from WH for the adult characters in this story.

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Chapter Nine: **Epilogue**

Wind swept down to stir up dead leaves and a gray fox crept down among the roots of a tall cottonwood. A storm was brewing in the upper passes and any moment it'd come crashing down the slopes like an avalanche of thundering gales and lashing rain.

The furry of Canada would be unleashed on this summer night.

The whole valley seemed to be holding its breath; even the bugs had gone silent. Like the fox, creatures large and small were bunkering down into one shelter or another. Despite the lavish bounty of warmth and growth, they all knew that, in this wilderness, Mother Nature's kindness never lasted forever.

The crack of gunfire seemed unreal, almost blasphemous in this stillness before the storm and the trees shook their branches like enraged fists, as a small boy in a red robe ran past their trucks.

James was running like he'd never run before. No longer did the air claw and rip at his lungs and throat, threatening to strangle him. No longer did exhaustion cause his legs to tremble, or his heart to ache. No longer was it dust and pollen that made his eyes burn and water. Now it was different. Tears made his eyes water. Fear caused his legs to tremble and it was sorrow that made his heart ache. The night, the wind the exercise and the coming storm seemed to almost embrace him, to lift him up and give him the strength he needed to fly. Fly far away from what had just happened.

He nearly screamed in rage, when something heavy crashed into him, tackling him down to the forest floor. He knew immediately that it was Victor, without even seeing him. He could smell that it was the older boy and struggled quickly out his arms, gaining his feet and bringing up his fist in the boxing pose his father had once taught him.

"I didn't mean it!" he screamed, his eyes still as wild as they'd been in the mansion, "I didn't mean it!"

"Yes you did!" roared Victor, looking him full in the face and then softening his tone some, "He deserved it and you gave it to him."

James stared back pale in the darkness, his big eyes becoming uncertain. Slowly, he lowered his fists, looking at Victor warily. Stepping forward Victor put his hands on the smaller boy's shoulders. "We're brothers, Jimmy. You realize that?"

James opened his mouth then closed it, looking into Victor's grim face.

"And brother's protect each other," Victor continued, giving James' shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You have to be hard now. Hard enough so that nothing can ever touch us."

James hesitated the wild fire in his eyes fading, as he thought about his father, the father he'd known, not that monster who'd called him son. "I want to go home."

"We can't," Victor said. He had no intention of ever seeing that place again and if he wasn't going back, than neither could Jimmy. "We stick together no matter what and take care of anyone who gets in our way! Can you do that, Little Brother?"

James looked up at him, his sweaty face growing solemn. Silently he nodded.

They could hear the manor dogs barking in the distance now and Victor turned, looking back at the sight of lanterns bobbing in the darkness. The voices of the servants and Dr. Kymbol could be heard, as they hurried through the woods.

"They coming," Victor whispered, looking back down at James, "Can you run?"

James was no longer crying. There was fear in his eyes, but he also looked determined and surprisingly strong, for a boy so young. He nodded and took Victor's hand. Together, they turned and ran through the trees, over dead leaves and fallen logs.

The first powerful gust of the storm swept down, hitting them in the face with the invigorating smells of rain and mountain pines.

"Keep on running!" Victor called, increasing his pace and pulling out ahead. To his surprise, James easily kept up, sticking right by his side. Behind them the dogs continued barking amid the roaring wind. Wordlessly, the boys exchanged looks and with instinctual understanding they both jumped forward with a vicious burst of speed, bolting through the woods and up the mountain like wild animals. Neither one of them of them had ever felt such a surge of freedom and release.

Before long, they left the dogs far behind and the storm gathered all around them. The whole rest of world seemed to fade. Embracing the wild freedom and chaos, they forget everything else, as they dashed through wind and rain. They raced each other, raced the storm, raced reality. They outran their past and it was only the three of them; James, Victor and the stormy wilderness here and now and always.

_**Fin**_

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**AN: **I finally finished this story. I know it took me like two years and I'm really grateful to those of you, who have stuck loyally to it for the whole time. I want to thank those of you who have reviewed every chapter. Specifically, I'd like to thank Lucky's Girl, quoththeraven5 and Smizzlemort.

For anyone who doesn't know, I wrote the sequel for this story, before starting this one and it can be found on my profile page. It's called _Sons of the Wilderness 1849_ and takes place four years after this one in a Canadian mining camp. Please check it out, if you haven't read it already.

I have plans for a whole "Sons of the Wilderness" series, though after as long as it took for me to finish this one, I'm not sure if I should launch a third story. If I did, it would take place a few years after the 1849 story, probably in the late 1850s, and would be about them living as feral brothers in the wild. Eventually I'd bring in a Native American tribe and the US army and hopefully set them on the path to fighting the Civil War. Does that sound like something y'all would like to read? Let me know. If I get enough encouragement, I may go ahead and start it and try not to procrastinate like I did with this one.

Thanks again for reading and for all you support and reviews. Be sure to leave a last review to this chapter and let me know what you thought of the story over all and how you think I could improve it, my writing of the characters, or my writing style in general. I'd really appreciate it.

Love you all.

~MMM


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